self-loathing is a force that gives us meaning
i have always been a fan of "to kill a mockingbird" -- a perfect book, a damn good movie -- you gotta hand it to harper lee: she drops one big literary bomb on the world, BOOM!, and then quietly goes about her business. no sophomore slump, no public meltdown. she said what she had to say. i am told she still rides the subway. and probably thinks back fondly of her childhood memories of her neighbor, truman capote, sighs wistfully and counts her money in her head.
so the nice guys watched "to kill a mockingbird" again and you know what? i will never be as good a father as atticus finch. fuck it. i haven't even started, but christ, i give up. let's look at the differences, shall we?
- atticus finch is a steely-jawed public defender, righteously crusading for justice in the face of violent threats and humiliating slurs.
- mr nice guy is a slack-jawed coward whose wife does all the odd plumbing and carpentry jobs while he strums guitar (if mrs nice guy hears one more carter family ditty, she is going to fix my plumbing)
- atticus finch earns the respect of his children by doing the right--which is too often the hard--thing.
- mr nice guy panders to people's basest instincts for cheap laughs, like a monkey
- atticus finch is a humble, pure, saintly man with only humble, pure, saintly thoughts.
- mr nice guy is addicted to goat porn.
- atticus finch was played by gregory peck.
- mr nice guy would be played by, let's face it, carrot top
i could go on. but i won't.
here's further proof that i am not fit to reproduce: yesterday i locked myself out of the apartment. it was 2 pm. what would the wise and brave atticus finch do? mr nice guy figured his options included: waiting around 5 hours for mrs nice guy to come home (which could have justifiably allowed for his going to a movie AND a local watering hole to get watered), or calling our building's management and weeping like a 12-year-old girl at the end of "titanic." i called the management; they recommended a locksmith. brilliant! a locksmith will magically open my door for free!
$200 and one hour later i was inside the apartment. i have seldom been this amazed at my sheer stupidity and lack of common sense; you can only imagine how mrs nice guy felt when her key didn't fit the new lock when she got home. i was inclined to tell her that i had changed the locks and was withholding sexual favors until she agreed to name the kid after my greek uncle Testocles (if it's a girl: Chlamydia). but i don't have a greek uncle and her sense of humor would probably have been tempered by her daily after-work need to regurgitate.
so you see, dear readers, that i am no atticus finch. i shall be scheduling my vasectomy for some time next week. snip, snip!